


Have Your Cake (and Eat It Too)

by swordliliesandebony



Series: Celebration Days [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Established Relationship, High Heels, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Control, PWP, Praise Kink, Rimming, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: You can't have a fancy Valentine's Day dinner without a nice, juicy dessert.





	Have Your Cake (and Eat It Too)

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written Promptis in what feels like ages. I'm a tiny bit sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> If you don't follow N0tempty on tumblr, you should! I have requests open and am working on more short fics + headcanons that probably won't be appropriate to post here. <3

Prompto doesn’t  _ do  _ half measures.

He happens to, in fact, live by the idea of going big or going home. Or, in this case, going big  _ and  _ going home. He’s pretty damn proud of the outcome thus far, too. A fancy dinner with a reluctant king properly turned a diplomatic excursion to a slowly-rebuilding Altissia into a makeshift honeymoon of sorts. Flowers and champagne and favors from a friend of a particular previous king all worked out in his favor, even with Noct hiding flush cheeks and stammering over and over about how  _ Yes, he’s aware it’s Valentine’s Day  _ and  _ No, that doesn’t mean you had to do this _ . 

Go big, then go home. 

Prompto is smirking at that idea while he’s locked in the bathroom, giving himself a final look in the mirror. There are sounds— distant ones, a little indistinct— of Noct working with flowers and vases and certainly grumbling about how unnecessary this all was; all while— Prompto imagines— smiling warmly at the bouquet and troubling himself over the right spot for the roses. He’s won this one, if Valentine’s Day can be thought of as a competition. Well, he’s  _ about  _ to win this one, in any case.

He watches his fingers trace down his own skin, following the heavy steel-boned line of the corset that runs crimson down his waist. He follows the dark lace trim and the tightly accentuated curve above his hip, and when he reaches the flared end, his fingers move instead to the matching lace climbing just beneath his navel. It’s a combination of panty and belt and he looks  _ good _ in it, even he can’t deny. He  _ feels  _ good in it, too. It goes to silk below those intricate heart-shaped designs, smooth and pleasant against his cock, delightful friction when he turns to the side, observes over his shoulder the  _ incredibly  _ appealing way patent red pumps lift his ass, draw his own damn fingers to grab at the round curve. All milky skin, contrast to the pale cast of stockings that are clipped with cute bows at the tops of his thighs. Noctis won’t be begging off all the attention once he sees this.

Prompto finds his fingers edging back to the front of his ensemble, slipping at the panties elastic, lacy band before he’s distracted by Noct calling at the shut door, presumably from the bed. He’s startled briefly by it, withdrawing his fingers before he can feel more than brief and enticing heat. He looks himself over in the mirror again while Noctis is putting on a fairly magnificent sort of pout— sight unseen, a particularly impressive feat— in his demands as to what’s taking so long. Prompto smiles at the impatience and he forces himself to stop wasting more time. He shoulders his way into a waiting robe— something silky and short, giving the right hint of that accentuated ass and the appealing skin between lace and stocking— before he’s heading from the ensuite back to the bedroom. He makes one final check to cinch the silk at his waist and glance at the mirror again before he opens the door.

His grand entrance is not so much ruined as it is delayed by Noct’s focus on kicking off shoes and peeling down socks where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed. Prompto smiles at it though, at the way Noct’s cheeks are a little bit flush still from a couple of glasses’ champagne and a walk through the chill back to the Citadel. He looks pretty damn appealing all on his own, with his suit jacket hanging open and his hair draping his face while he’s hunched over. He looks a touch more appealing when he lifts his head and gets a look at Prompto, confusion passing through his eyes first, then an intense narrowing as he does a second take. His gaze moves slow from those high pumps, along the stockings, then to the robe that covers all the  _ real  _ fun in store.

“Prompto…” he sounds cautious, purposefully restrained, and that makes Prompto smile. He hasn’t quite turned off ‘king mode’ yet, and there’s something terribly appealing in that, in the way that he’s still hiding interest by instinct when Prompto begins his saunter across the room, heels clicking hardwood all the way.

“You didn’t think this was just gonna be dinner and flowers, right?” Prompto’s voice is low, teasing, carrying a hint of the smirk his lips are curling into. He watches Noctis sit up and lean back a little bit on the bed, smiles wider at the way his legs part for Prompto to stand between them as he approaches. Heat comes to the outside of his thighs with Noct’s hands falling in place at once, already eager to graze upward, slip the robe a little bit out of the way.

“I get dessert too,” Noctis is smirking as well and Prompto almost laughs out loud. He has to chalk that one up to the drink, something so deeply cliche as it is. Still, it’s promise enough— right along with the way Noct’s fingers are already tugging a little clumsily at the robe’s tie— that this part of the  _ celebration _ is a bit more outwardly appreciated. 

“If you didn’t fill up too much beforehand,” Prompto counters, and this time he does laugh a little while he’s batting Noct’s hands away, taking just half a step back from the attempts to uncover him more. Noctis takes that as reason enough to ease out of his jacket and toss it easily behind to land in some sort of crumpled heap on the other side of the bed. His eyes don’t leave Prompto’s hands through the motion, absolutely glued while he’s making a lingering show of untying the robe.

“You’re trying to kill me here huh?” there’s a hint of impatient petulance to Noct’s voice, just another point to make Prompto chuckle when he lets the robe fall open and then, just as naturally, fall to the floor behind him. He holds his breath while Noct’s eyes sweep over him again and, he swears, go just a hint wider. Then Noct is sitting up a little bit and reaching for Prompto again, guiding him to close that half-step of distance recently created.

“Well?” Prompto waits a beat or two before he encourages any reaction more than Noct’s hands tracing reverence over the corset, exploring the artificial curve. He looks nothing short of entranced by the outfit, by Prompto wearing it, and for a moment it seems like he can’t quite make a decision as to where to touch next. He settles on working his way down, it seems, with his hands cradling in at the curve between Prompto’s throat and shoulder, trailing down to his bare chest. His fingers brace at Prompto’s ribs and his thumbs work rough circles each over a nipple, drawing to heavy peaks before he’s spreading his hands full across his chest instead. The slow movement of fingers against his flesh makes Prompto shiver, makes him lean closer while his eyes only follow Noct’s.

“You  _ are  _ trying to kill me,” Noctis’s voice sounds a little distant, so utterly distracted by Prompto’s skin beneath him, by his body before him, and Prompto can’t be happier for that. He’s sighing at the press of palms into his chest and he’s pretending— hopelessly, to be sure— that his heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to burst beneath that contact. It’s all too quickly that Noct’s letting his hands run down the front of the corset, along the concealed steel lines that curve and shape him into so much more pure sex appeal.

“That’s the last thing I want—” Prompto’s teasing retaliation is cut short though, by Noct’s hand gliding over the silk restraining a half-formed erection. The sensation of heat through thin fabric sets Prompto’s veins on fire, throbs through him in an intense, unshakable need. His hips rock forward without any thought to the motion and draw Noct’s lips back from wonder to smile. He’s similarly amused by the gasp he draws out when his hands move quick to squeeze at the curve of Prompto’s ass, rough and eager and pulling him closer still, until his waist is nearly pressed to Noctis’s chest. 

“You look amazing,” Noct’s words are hissed out, and they come with a line of delicate kisses along his waist, muted and distance thanks to the heavy fabric constricting there. The hint of pressure though, the feeling of Noct’s hair when Prompto’s fingers move to tangle through it, the heat of fingers sliding along that rear curve, edging beneath tight lace, have Prompto’s thighs trembling under the tax of supporting him, “why don’t you tell me what you  _ do  _ want, then?”

“Easier to just show you,” Prompto smiles through his words, smiles at the fact that he can even form coherent ones. He’s more pleased, still, that he can work himself into guiding Noct’s knees together so that he can climb up and perch himself in his lap and get his fingers working immediately at loosening his necktie. What he wants— which likely enough goes without saying— is to get Noct out of the well-pressed suit, to get him splayed out and naked and as appealing as anything could be. 

He’s eager though, impatient himself, in far too much of a need-fueled frenzy to really take things all slow and teasing like he might have imagined while his fingers were roaming over his little  _ gift _ in the bathroom. He’s fumbling a little bit with undoing Noct’s tie and casting it aside, and he should probably count it as a miracle that he manages to open one button after another, to reveal all that toned muscle and pale skin, without tearing the closures off entirely. 

Noct leans back to allow all this, his hands bracing behind, giving his back the perfect arch to stretch skin taut as its revealed and by the time Prompto has the black oxford fully open, he can feel the throb of a full erection against all that lace and silk. He slides himself forward in Noct’s lap and presses that barely-contained heat up against Noct’s newly exposed belly and he absolutely doesn’t miss the firm response meeting him a few inches beneath.

“You’re pretty damn hard to resist like this, y’know,” Noctis grunts his response, shirt hanging from his shoulders and hands still braced and gripping into the sheets while his eyes cast over Prompto again, make him feel a new surge of arousal.

“Probably shouldn’t resist, then.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Noctis takes those words as an invitation and he hoists himself to sit upright again. His lips attack immediately at Prompto’s throat, harsh and eager, tongue rough and hot and insistent against a pounding pulse. He follows with a brief nip of his teeth, with the promise of a harsh mark to play reminder in the morning, while his hands slide down Prompto’s back, over the corset, lower to squeeze rough at his ass, to spread him until fancy fabric is running a tight line down his split, tugging more heavy, enticing friction against all manner of hypersensitive flesh. 

“ _ Noct— _ ” a gasp of his name turns to a whimper with a harsh crack, a snapping of pain that translates so immediately to throbbing, stinging pleasure. Prompto’s head spins over the sensation and he feels like his body is singing through it when Noct follows with his thumb running a gentle, comforting circle over the likely brightened skin.

“Think I’m ready for my dessert,” There’s a flash in Noct’s eyes when he lifts his head and it absolutely drives Prompto wild, has his whole body on fire, before he’s flipped in a single swift motion to lie face-first on the bed. Noct’s lips are attacking again, down the curve of his spine, while his fingers tug at the panties. He doesn’t pull them down properly, simply shifts them lower, out of his way, as those kisses descend. It puts another tension at Prompto’s cock, absolutely throbbing where it’s trapped between belly and silk and mattress.

Noctis takes a moment to adjust them, so that he can brace himself on all fours, so his fingers can knead again into the pert roundness of Prompto’s backside while he trails kisses hot and wet right down to his crack. There’s a sharp sensation as Noct spreads him again, replaced by a wet heat suddenly pressing inward that makes Prompto gasp, writhe, then outright scream into the sheets.

Another pause comes and Noct’s hands shift for a moment to guide Prompto up onto his knees, to guide his ass properly into the air, all in display for him, a veritable platter. His hand reaches around and gives Prompto a stroke through the panties, slow and teasing and making Prompto’s elbows shake and nearly give in where they support him. He holds there, presses firm when his tongue dives in again, just briefly before he’s offering warning.

“You’re so hard already,” Noct’s voice trails out in heated breath, an explosive sort of sensation against wet skin. His fingers run a delicate line up the satin-enclosed shape of Prompto’s erection, tracing the shape, drawing him to twitching, barely restrained mess, “better not go and finish on me already. Not until I say,” there’s a command slipping into his voice and  _ that  _ is all appeal, too. It’s a nudge toward roles they haven’t properly donned tonight, even if they might still exist in the back of their minds and Prompto  _ knows  _ that he needs to obey the words. He knows that he wants to. 

“Yes,  _ Majesty _ ,” Prompto finds himself slipping likewise into a role, one that he plays only behind closed doors. One where he gives Noctis the proper title and reverence as king. Which is, perhaps, ironic, as Noctis is well at work pressing his tongue again into Prompto’s ass, deeper, more eager than before, more easily evoking a whimpering, pleading response; sending Prompto’s fingers to curl tight into the mattress and his back to arch, pressing himself that much more fully, more urgently into Noct’s face.

When Noct finally pulls away, after what feels like an eternity of perfectly mixed pleasure and restrained agony, Prompto finds himself whining immediately. The loss of heat and pressure and overwhelming sensation is so immediate and it makes Prompto feel like he’s returning briefly to solid ground, a harsh and stark opposition to the turbulent soaring that preceded. It’s only momentary though, something that Prompto is reassured of when Noctis lifts from the bed and stretches himself to the table beside, the drawer holding any number of fun little additions to their play. 

When he returns, he sets the newly retrieved bottle to his side and makes quick and near-frantic work of getting his pants shoved down to his knees, freeing a wet and throbbing erection to stand at his belly. He reaches at Prompto’s wrist, enough of a motion to get Prompto situated up in his lap again, an equally urgent motion, a little clumsy between the half-downed panties and negotiating the pumps.

“I wanna see you,” Noctis reiterates the implication there, and his eyes stay on Prompto while he situates himself. He rises to his feet long enough to ease the panties slowly down, an attempt at a show while Noctis is already running himself slick with lubrication, putting on a visual feast of his own with the way his hand works slow and purposeful along his own length. The view has Prompto licking his lips when he climbs to Noct’s lap once again, settling in close and quick.

“Look all you like,” Prompto smiles, breathless with the entirely unnecessary words. Noct shares the expression though, eyes absolutely burning with want while his face is arranged into something a little bit softer, a little bit warmer.

“You’ve been so good for me, Prom. Giving me such a nice gift,” The praise sits heavy in Prompto’s chest, turns his cheeks flush from more than exertion; from more, even, than slicked up fingers running along the curve of his ass, then pressing quick and easy into him, a sharp and gasping sting followed immediately by a careful hook and a light, stroking press that sends Prompto’s mind spinning again. The sudden burst of pleasure with Noctis working over his prostate has Prompto bearing again against letting himself go too quickly, has his hands moving to grip desperately at Noct’s shoulders.

“Perfect. You’re  _ perfect _ , Prompto,” Noctis speaks in a low rumble and he dips in, offering kisses that are surprisingly gentle, overtly affectionate, when he slides another finger inside, stretching him further, preparing with some care even if the urgency still remains between them. The quiet praises are a fair distraction, the sweet kisses doubly so, and Prompto is only wincing briefly, sucking in deep and quick breaths against the initial burn for a few moments before his body begins to relax around.

When Noct asks if he’s ready, Prompto can’t quite summon up the words, but he nods quickly and he lifts himself, face hidden against Noct’s neck while fingers slide away, a brief empty feeling that is replaced quickly enough with hands on his hips, guiding him down while Noct is pressing up, in, until Prompto is seated properly on him, a tight and hot and aching fit that has Noctis sighing, head fallen back.

Noct’s thumbs press heavy at Prompto’s hips, near to bruising, while they remain that way for a moment, unmoving and bodies slowly adjusting to one another before Nocts moves his hips in a slow angle and his eyes open, his head lifts so that he’s pressed forehead-to-forehead with Prompto.

“Go ahead and move for me,” he urges, and even if his voice is still that low rasp, there’s affection hidden there beneath everything else. The harsh grip loosens slightly and his thumbs run easy circles where they rest on Prompto’s skin, encouraging when he makes that first, careful move.

It takes some time— though not a wealth of it, thanks to a fair amount of experience— before Prompto feels like he’s getting it right. The rhythm is slow and halting at first, with his thighs trembling and his body aching wrapped around Noct. The angle needs to adjust, his hips straining through the slow motion. 

All the while, Prompto is gasping, his fingers still clutching Noct’s shoulders, their heads still pressed together and breath mingling and Noctis offering up those same quiet encouragements, so close that their lips are brushing through them. It’s almost like a switch being flipped, when everything starts sliding— so to speak— into place. When Prompto’s movements start becoming more assured and, when he bears down, he begins to feel that building pressure again, those white light bursts behind his eyes where Noctis is pressing perfectly inside him.

Then, it’s Noct helping it along. It’s his hands slipping from hips to grasp at Prompto’s ass again, to spread him wide and guide him down while Noct snaps his hips up in return. It’s the slapping of skin against skin, breaths going to panting, bed creaking beneath them while their pace ramps. Noctis shifts so that his lips are working over Prompto’s throat again— the opposite side now, a point being made to mark Prompto equally and from every angle. There are gasps between the kisses, of Prompto’s name on Noct’s lips and of the reverse in exchange.

“Fuck, Prom.  _ Fuck _ ,” Noctis shifts again, and one hand reaches between them to curl around Prompto’s cock, to work heavy, satisfying strokes over the throbbing wet heat. It’s sign enough that he’s close, if Prompto couldn’t all but  _ feel  _ the heat coiling and building and threatening in both of them. He bites down on his own lip, whimpers  the sensation. He’s just barely holding on himself, that earlier command fresh in his mind still while his eyes go wide and pleading to Noct’s, “‘m close, Prom…”

“I… Noct… I need…” Prompto is finding difficulty with the words, but they seem to hone into something in Noct, have his eyes narrowing and his hips pressing harder. They have fire burning between them and a smile curling onto his lips.

“Tell me, Prom. Tell me what you need,” the sense of command is back in Noctis’s voice, driving that familiar fire through Prompto’s veins, making his belly burn tight with his need for release, “ _ ask  _ me for it,” he amends quickly and his eyes narrow once more, “let me hear you  _ beg _ .”

Prompto doesn’t resist that demand for more than a moment. He’s gasping out pleas, ones directed to  _ His Majesty _ , ones spoken with whimpering desperation and those huge eyes, with pressure building in his stomach and at his balls and through his twitching cock still fighting near-overstimulation at Noct’s hand. 

“Go ahead, then. Come for me. Show me how good I make you feel,” Noctis is damn near trembling through the words and it only takes a beat, maybe two, before Prompto is obeying that too. Before he’s burying his face into Noct’s shoulder again and spilling all over his hand, a desperate and sticky mess that has his body near convulsion for the ferocity and the  _ suddenness  _ of it all.

Prompto is still whimpering out Noctis’s name, still clutching and soaring through that euphoric haze when Noct follows him, when he feels the sudden and explosive heat filling him, dripping around, leaving perhaps more of a mess than he had already created himself. There is a long moment, an eternity, of the two of them grasping at each other, riding through the release and the relief and every damn emotion that swirls together with it. And then, just as quickly, they’re falling back to the bed. 

Prompto is still panting, shallow heaving against the corset, while he kicks the pumps mindlessly somewhere near the bedside. Noctis is at his side, nuzzling close, sweat-slicked hair clinging while his head comes to pillow there against those desperate breaths. His cheek rests for a moment, stubble running a pleasantly rough touch over Prompto’s still-frantic, semi-erratic heart, before his mind comes close enough to reality to think a little clear, to carefully work open the clasps of the corset and spread it out neatly beside Prompto.

The view must be appealing in some way, because once he’s freed— to a deep gulping of fuller, easier breaths— Noctis runs a line of kisses from his sternum to his navel and back up again before he returns to his spot against Prompto’s chest. It’s a warm gesture, something that has Prompto pink in the cheeks again, fighting off a silly, lovesick smile.

“Noct,” when Prompto finally brings himself to murmur the name, it has Noctis lifting his head, then himself as a whole. Noctis doesn’t outright quiet him, but his eyes are so affectionate and gentle that it leaves him properly speechless, simply smiling that same dumb grin while Noctis shifts them so that Prompto is full and proper on the bed, blankets being drawn around. They’re spreading one hell of a mess, but it’s a distant thought in Prompto’s mind compared to the warmth of the covers and of Noct curling around him once more.

“That was a really good Valentine’s Day, Prom,” Noctis interrupts whatever thoughts were on Prompto’s mind and at his lips and the admission makes that smile blossom once again, even as Prompto is letting his eyes fall shut. Just for a moment. Just a little rest before cleaning up and returning to reality.

“Glad you thought so. I worked pretty hard, y’know,” teasing, of course, and drawing a bit of light laughter from them both.

“Yeah. Gonna be a real pain in the ass to outdo you next time,” Noctis’s retort only evokes more of the laughter, brings Prompto to lift one eyelid and cast him a lazy look.

“Can’t wait to see you try.”


End file.
